Angel of Mercy
by Laura Schiller
Summary: Tag to "Equinox". Noah Lessing and Seven make a fresh start.


Angel of Mercy

By Laura Schiller

Based on _Star Trek: Voyager_

Copyright: Paramount

"Crewman, you seem uneasy. Is something wrong?"

Noah Lessing glanced up at the unreadable, impossibly lovely face of his new commanding officer, then back at his workstation. The chronometer underneath the star chart he had just completed read 1600 hours. He might have guessed that Seven of Nine would not start a personal discussion until the end of their shift.

"No, ma'am. I'm fine, thanks." But even as he said this, he realized how unconvincing it sounded, considering that he could barely look her in the eye.

"My … Borg demeanor has been known to cause discomfort to my subordinates." Said demeanor, already formal, became painfully so. She locked her hands behind her back, standing so stiffly it looked as she had swallowed a steel rod. "Perhaps you should request a change of schedule from Commander Chakotay - "

"_No!_" Damn it, he'd insulted her. And after trying so hard to appear as if nothing was the matter. The last thing he'd wanted was to make her feel as if the tension in the room were her fault. Eager to reassure her, his explanation slipped out almost almost before he was aware of speaking.

"It's nothing like that, honestly! Why would I even mind about your manners after what my own crew did to you? Hell, you'd be brain-dead by now if _Voyager_ hadn't come back!"

For the first time, he saw Seven's face display an unmistakeable emotion: astonishment. Her eyes were wide, her human eyebrow arched high. No wonder. He had just brought up the proverbial elephant in the room with a tactlessness quite equal to the Borg's.

"There. Might as well say it. You _saved _me, Seven. I thought I was gonna die back there, alone in the dark, until you came to find me with that flashlight of yours. _Voyager_ saved us all, and we … we threw you to the wolves."

She didn't even ask whether he meant leaving _Voyager_ exposed to the nucleogenic aliens' attacks, or personally subjecting her to a forced surgery.

"How did you know about my abduction?" she asked instead. "You were a captive on _Voyager_ yourself at the time."

"Marla told me. She's still surprised that Max and Rudy could have gone that far. I'm not," he added grimly. The step between torturing aliens, even decidedly nonhumanoid creatures, and torturing humans was smaller than one might think.

"I tried to stop them, you know. That first time you picked us up … I voted for leaving the _Equinox_ and everything on it behind, getting a fresh start here. But I didn't try hard enough. I let them shut me up like a spoiled kid, like all I wanted was the showers and hot meals. We were all so damn eager to get home, we … "

His memories choked him: the screaming of the aliens as they struggled and died in Marla's machine; Rudy's constant flow of rationalizations; the fanatic gleam in Max's eyes; the desiccated bodies of his friends and colleagues.

"Mr. Lessing?"

Her voice was quiet, almost gentle, the same voice that had been such a blessed relief to hear as he lay pinned to the floor by a fallen bulkhead. Between her voice, her blazing flashlight after all those hours in darkness, and her awe-inspiring beauty, for a moment his exhausted mind had honestly taken her for an angel. How could what started with an act of kindness have led to so much pain and guilt?

"It would be illogical to blame you for my abduction," she said. "Since you did not participate. As for the rest … you complied with your Collective. I understand."

"No offense, ma'am, but I'm not a drone," he replied, with an effort to keep his own voice level. "I'm responsible for my actions. I should have _done_ something. It's just … we went through hell together, you know what I mean? Never mind that it's a hell we made ourselves." _We all make our own hell, Mr. Lessing. I hope you enjoy yours._ Janeway's steel-cold voice, as well as the aliens' screams, would probably haunt his nightmares all his life.

"When all that's between you and a disgusting early death is your captain and his phaser … when you're dying of some Delta Quadrant virus and your crew trades in half their rations for medicine … you're not gonna betray those people. Not when your Starfleet oath, your conscience and everything else is already out the airlock, and they're all you've got left to be loyal to."

"Even faced by Captain Janeway's interrogation." Seven's voice was still low, and there was a hint of something in her bright blue eyes that might well be regret.

"How do you know about that?" He rubbed his wrists, a nervous habit he could not seem to shake, as if to rub away the metallic chill of handcuffs.

"_Voyager_'s crew is … disturbingly efficient at collecting information of a personal nature."

Disturbing was right. Noah hated the thought of his confrontation with Janeway being dragged through the rumor mill, but there was no preventing it. You could no more stop a crowd of people in a confined space from gossiping than a Ferengi from chasing profits.

"The Captain is … a complex individual," said Seven, with a long pause, as if even her powers of articulation found it difficult to describe her.

"Complex? Well, I dunno. Prisoner won't talk? Just cuff him to a chair and let him wait to get roasted, like a goddamn marshmallow. Sounds pretty simple to me."

Noah couldn't help his first angry reaction, but the matching spark of indignation on Seven's face – reminding him exactly to whom he was talking – silenced him abruptly.

"As simple as the forced surgical extraction of data which the prisoner refuses to give!" she snapped back.

They faced off, glaring; the viewscreen image of a star chart between them felt as vast and cold as if those stars were real. Noah was the first to look away. How bizarre this was, both of them so fierce in the defense of their leaders, when they each had firsthand knowledge of said leaders' darkest natures. He might as well be arguing with his own shadow.

"I get it," he conceded, with a sigh. "She's your captain."

"Indeed. I am as loyal to her, errors notwithstanding, as you were to Captain Ransom."

This time, the silence between them was slightly less charged, a careful truce. Though, frankly, Noah found it difficult to imagine how Janeway could deserve the loyalty of this incredible woman, he resolved to give it his best effort.

"I have an idea," he said, holding out his hands in a conciliatory manner. "Why don't you tell me about the best, the absolute _best_ thing Janeway's ever done?"

"To what purpose?"

"To get a better picture of her. She's my captain too now, after all … I admit, me and Marla and the rest talked about jumping ship at the next M-class planet, but we agreed that staying with _Voyager_ is our best chance at survival by a long shot. If I'm gonna serve under Captain Janeway for God knows how long, I … I can't keep thinking about her as the one who almost killed me. I've got to find _something_ to respect."

"Understandable." Seven nodded. "However … it is difficult to decide. The Captain's best characteristics are sometimes indistinguishable from her worst."

"What do you mean?"

"When she separated me from the Borg, it was against my will, in order to prevent me from assimilating her crew. Having been a drone from the age of six, with no concept of life apart from the hive mind, I was frightened and resentful towards the Captain – extremely so. I missed the power and harmony of the Collective. I believed that she had done me a great wrong."

Noah found it disturbingly easy to see the lure of the Borg from her perspective. No choices, no responsibility, no doubts; it was only the extremest cosequence of a mindset such as his former crew's handing all the blame to Ransom.

"However, as I adapted to _Voyager_, and my human memories began to resurface, I came to realize that Captain Janeway was only trying to restore what had already been taken from me – my individuality. Despite my initial resistance and the many problems my presence has caused, she accepted me as a member of her crew. She taught me to be strong, even without the Collective. She taught me compassion."

Noah remembered. _Do not be frightened, Mr. Lessing. Your limbs are intact._ So it was Janeway's example his angel had been following.

"Six months ago, the Borg Queen threatened to assimilate _Voyager_ unless I returned to her – not as a drone, but as an intermediary such as the former Locutus. She intended to use me to further her understanding of the human species, in order to succeed in its assimilation. I complied, letting the Captain think I had betrayed her, but she recognized the signs of my deception. She understood that my only intent was to protect _Voyager_ - so she came back for me."

For a moment, Seven positively glowed with respect and pride in her formidable mentor. She would follow this woman anywhere – and considering the implications of her story, Noah realized why.

"You mean she followed you _into_ Borg territory?"

"Yes. She beamed aboard the cube where I was being held, confronted the Borg Queen, and gave me a choice of whom to follow. I chose her, assisted in our escape, and have not regretted it since. The Captain is, as I said, complex – capable of both violence and extreme altruism – but whatever she may be, she is a formidable ally. There is nothing she will not do to protect those in her charge … a group which now includes you, Mr. Lessing. You have nothing to fear from her."

He believed her. Of course, the unsaid implication was that if he ever crossed the line again, he _would_ have something to fear, but that didn't matter. He already had too much red in the ledger of his conscience to even think about adding more.

So this was Captain Kathryn Janeway: someone who would not only try, but succeed, in restoring a Borg drone to humanity. Who would go toe-to-toe with the Borg Queen to rescue her. She sounded reckless, and of questionable sanity. She also sounded like a hero.

"That _is_ something to respect," he said. "I'm glad. Should I tell you the best of Captain Ransom?"

He knew what she meant by saying it was difficult to decide; stories swarmed in his mind, competing for attention. The story he chose, however, turned out not to need telling.

"I believe I have already seen it," she said.

"Yeah … I think you did."

Of course. Max's mutiny. Rudy's surrender, saving Noah's life and all those remaining. Rudy's last message to Janeway as he piloted the _Equinox_ away, sacrificing himself so that _Voyager_ would stay clear of the explosion. _You've got a fine crew, Captain. Promise me you'll get them home._

If a former Borg could earn redemption so could he. If a good woman could fall, a fallen man could rise, because the human spectrum had far too many colors to restrict itself to black and white. It seemed his angel of mercy had saved him again, this time by showing him something to believe in.

"Seven … thank you."

"For what?"

"For your story. For the chance to get to know you better. I knew you'd do me good from the moment I saw you. Look … even though I must've made one hell of a first impression … I'd really appreciate it if we could start over as friends."

He held out a hand to her and she shook it warmly: skin touching metal, dark touching light.

"Agreed."


End file.
